Opening Door Does Not Alter Time
by Marguerite1
Summary: A conversation in a laundromat.


**OPENING DOOR DOES NOT ALTER TIME**

Classification: Vignette   
Summary: A night in a laundromat. 

*** 

Rain splattered the windows, turning weeks-old dust into dim silver streaks. An   
occasional passing car splashed gritty mud up onto the sidewalks but otherwise   
the city was calm and still. After all, what kind of nutcase would be out at   
this ridiculous hour of the night in the middle of a thunderstorm, especially at   
a dingy laundromat? 

Mulder shifted uncomfortably in a hard plastic chair that seemed to have been   
designed for the express purpose of bruising his ass. Adding to his discomfort   
were the scratchy hospital-issue scrubs that served in place of his well-loved   
jeans and sweater. Those were currently making sudsy rounds along with Scully's   
clothing, all for the bargain price of seventy-five cents. Plus a dollar for the   
little packet of laundry detergent. 

He had put the coins into the slots without a word of complaint. It was all his   
fault, anyway, so why argue over splitting the cost of getting their clothing   
freed of mud? Oh, and blood, some his, some hers, that was all over everything. 

What a mess. In more ways than one. 

Scully's slight sigh was almost drowned out by the swishing noises of the   
washing machine. The armless chairs allowed her to place her head on Mulder's   
shoulder, and once in a while he would shrug, twist, or make some other movement   
to keep her from falling asleep. God, he hated to do that. The doctor had been   
adamant that Scully be made to stay awake because of the concussion she had   
sustained. 

He sneaked a look at his partner. She was frowning at his latest attempt to keep   
her from dozing off. Typical of Scully, she had hidden from him the fact that   
she'd taken a nasty hit on the back of the head until she was certain that he   
was not seriously injured. "I'm fine," she had assured him. The fact that he   
hadn't realized she was lying about that, again, was something he chalked up to   
the pain of the four-inch-long gashes running down each of his shins. He had   
only realized that she'd been hurt when the emergency room physician declared   
that he'd seen worse wounds than Mulder's and he'd get them cleaned and stitched   
up. Scully had taken that as her cue to sink to her knees, grabbing a very   
surprised paramedic in a rather personal location in an attempt to break her   
fall. 

In the ensuing pandemonium, Mulder discovered that losing a lot of blood could   
make him light-headed. He knew this because when he tried to get up he managed   
only to pitch forward and whack his forehead on the IV stand. For some odd   
reason it made him happy to hear Scully laughing at him from her vantage point   
on the floor. 

She hadn't laughed earlier, while they were chasing their suspect through a   
rain-slicked alleyway. The boy may not have had supernatural strength but it   
certainly felt like it when he rolled the trash can toward them. Mulder was hit   
in the shins and had lurched forward like a trained seal, or perhaps a badly   
trained one. Scully had leaned over to try to catch him, and that was when the   
trash can bounced off a dumpster, flew up into the air, and fell back to earth -   
after hitting Scully squarely on the back of the head. 

The kid got away. 

Because of the chase, they had just spent two hours in the emergency room in   
this decrepit backwater town in Oklahoma. Ordinarily they could have just gone   
back to their motel and changed clothes, but this trip had been doomed from the   
start. Their luggage, clearly marked for travel from Washington, D.C. to Norman,   
Oklahoma, had become an X File of its own and were, inexplicably, en route to   
Rio de Janeiro. 

"Do we get their frequent flyer miles?" Scully had asked the toothy blonde at   
the customer service desk. 

That was the last time that they had both laughed. After an hour-long drive and   
a grueling interview with an unusually uncooperative witness, they found   
themselves running through the alley in pursuit of a kid who claimed to be able   
to alter government websites using psychic powers. Twenty minutes after that,   
they were in the hospital. And now, a mere four hours since their arrival, they   
were sore, stitched up, and sitting in a laundromat wearing borrowed scrubs. At   
this point their objective seemed to be getting clean enough to head back to the   
FBI with nothing to show for their trip but another workers' comp claim. 

The word "screwed" kept ricocheting around in Mulder's head. 

Scully shifted around again and he took the liberty of putting one arm around   
her shoulders. Mulder had always enjoyed the warm, compact feel of her body   
against his on those rare occasions when she would allow such contact. "How's   
your head, Scully?" he asked. 

"Exploding. And I'm sleepy, but you keep waking me up." 

"You know what the doctor..." 

She opened one blue eye. "I AM the doctor." 

"The doctor who didn't look cute in maroon scrubs, then. HE said to keep you   
awake for twelve hours." He ran the back of his knuckles across Scully's warm   
temple. "Maybe I should tell you a story." 

Scully snorted. "I'm supposed to be staying awake, Mulder." 

She was alert, then. Good. Mulder stretched his legs as far out as he could,   
wincing at the sharp pull of sixteen stitches across each shin. 

"You should keep them elevated," Scully commented with a languid hand gesture. 

"I'd be happy to, but the fine furniture in this excellent establishment seems   
to be bolted to the floor." 

"Adapt and improve, Mulder." Scully tugged at Mulder's legs. "Put 'em up here,"   
she said as she stood up to allow him access to all four of the connected   
chairs. 

Mulder twisted around and lay flat, groaning in pleasure as blood flowed upward   
from his legs and rejoined the rest of his circulatory system. Scully surprised   
him by sitting tailor-fashion on the floor and putting her head at the curve of   
his waist, her folded arms cushioning her cheek. 

So near and yet so far. 

"About that story, Mulder," Scully murmured drowsily. 

"Story. Yeah." Pleased, he tightened his grip around her and found that the ache   
in his back was lessening. "When we first got the house on Quonochontaug we   
didn't have a washer or dryer, much less a housekeeper, so Mom made us go with   
her to the laundromat." 

"How exciting." 

"Nah, Scully, I've always liked laundromats." 

"Great place to pick up women?" 

He winced at the sarcasm in her tone. "No. I just like the warmth. The clean   
smell." His voice changed to a rough whisper. "Remembering my mom and my sister,   
warm and laughing." 

Scully nestled against him, her lips grazing the his forearm. "I'm sorry." 

"It's okay." He let his nerve endings register the feel of her mouth on his   
flesh before continuing. "Anyway, when I was eight and Samantha was four, I   
taught her to read. She picked it up incredibly fast and started devoured   
everything, Scully ? wasn't ever happy unless she had a book in her hand and was   
reading out loud to someone, usually me. One day we'd gotten filthy playing on   
the beach so Mom hauled us to the laundromat to show us how much trouble we   
were. Samantha was running around, reading the names and ingredients of all the   
detergents, and the other moms thought that was the cutest thing they'd ever   
seen. I was laughing my ass off because Sam had been reading things like Grimm's   
Fairy Tales for a year, but she always loved to work a crowd." 

"I can see that happening," Scully said in a soft, soothing voice. 

"The women thought it was a lot less cute when Samantha ran out of labels and   
started announcing the sizes of their clothes." 

They both laughed. 

"So Mom told me to keep my sister with me and out of trouble. I was looking for   
something else for her to read and I turned my back for a second, and when I   
looked again she was gone." 

"Did she run out of the laundromat?" 

"That's what I figured, so I went out the door and called her name. No sign of   
her. Mom was talking to one of our neighbors and didn't notice, so I started   
looking behind the washers, under the seats, everywhere, and I was just starting   
to panic when I heard someone calling my name from inside one of the dryers. 

"It was Samantha. She was just sitting there, waving at me and smiling. I   
checked to make sure Mom didn't see and then I hauled her out and asked her what   
she was doing." 

"Trying to do somersaults?" 

"Nothing that simple. Turns out she'd read the sign by the coin slot and wanted   
to check it out for herself." He pointed to the old dryer in front of them and   
waited for Scully to turn around and read the tattered sticker. 

"Opening door does not alter time." She snorted. "Mulder, are you suggesting   
that your sister actually thought…" 

"…that dryers were cleverly disguised time machines? That's exactly what she   
thought. She was madder than hell when I pulled her out because she was   
convinced she could go back in time. She told me she wanted to visit Snow White   
and warn her about the apple." 

"That's adorable," Scully murmured, pressing her lips against Mulder's arm in   
what he was fairly sure was an actual kiss. "And I bet you never let her forget   
it, either." 

"Not for the next four years, anyway. After that…" He let the words trail off,   
feeling a heaviness in his chest and throat that told him to stop talking before   
he embarrassed himself. 

"I'm sorry, Mulder." 

"It's okay. I'm the one who brought it up, remember?" 

"Mmm." She snuggled down beside him, her slow breaths warming his skin. 

"Scully, you're not falling asleep, are you?" 

"Just keep talking to me, Mulder. I'm fine." 

"Yeah, that's what you said to the ER clerk when you signed yourself out against   
medical advice." 

"It wasn't AMA. I'm a doctor." 

"You're a doctor who signed the blank marked 'patient' as 'Dana K. Patient,   
M.D.,'" Mulder reminded her, trying not to let himself sound smug. "Ow!" he   
added when Scully's knuckles rapped against his ribs. 

"Okay, I wasn't fine then but I'm fine now." She turned her head to smile at   
him. 

Of course, the washer chose that moment to finish its cycle. Mulder, groaning in   
disappointment and pain, got up and put their clothes in the dryer. 

"Don't forget the Bounce," Scully slurred from her seat on the floor. 

He put more coins in the vending machine and extracted a packet of fabric   
softener. The single sheet went in with their clothes and Mulder started the   
dryer, then sat down, finding his reward in having Scully curl up beside him and   
put her head in his lap. 

"Just don't take our stuff out, ever," she said, her voice muffled against his   
thigh. 

"How come?" 

"Because I don't want to alter time just now." With that, she yawned and fell   
asleep as he stroked her hair. He thought about waking her but decided to let   
her rest for a while as he watched the whirling of their clothes against the   
glass, blues and greens and blacks leaving their own silvery trails against the   
window. 

Please, he half-prayed, if there's someone up there, could You just let it go on   
like this for a little while longer? I'll put up with aliens and conspiracies   
and whatever else gets thrown at me, just for a few more moments like this one. 

Don't alter this time. 

***   
End   
*** 

Author's note: JadedCat actually signed herself out of an ER as "Jaded Patient."   
She didn't believe it until I showed her the form. She gave me permission to use   
the incident in a story as long as I didn't mention her name…uh oh…   


Feedback? You betcha! - marguerite@swbell.net.   
Back to vignettes.   



End file.
